


Stories without words

by Kitacular



Series: More than Brothers [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Healing, Light Bondage, M/M, Prompt Fill, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: Aramis is still dealing with the physical evidence of his recent imprisonment. His friends have a plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Neve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Neve/gifts).



> This is a gift for Lady_Neve who sent me an absolutely wonderful suggestion while I was writing Emancipation of a Tree. I won't post her prompt as it sort of contains spoilers. It will get posted at the end of the last chapter :)
> 
> Reading that story will likely help new readers understand the situation.

“Fuck. Sire,” Porthos panted, his voice muffled by the thin pillow.

“Soon,” Aramis promised, grinning at his lover's back.

Porthos was kneeling, blindfolded, with his wrists tied at the small of his back. His weight was being held by his chest and face pressed into the bed, leaving his buttocks upturned and exposed, a fact Aramis was taking full advantage of.

His tongue pressed firmly back into Porthos' entrance alongside the two fingers already slowly thrusting in and out of him. Another curse was huffed into the pillow and Aramis smiled, his tongue exploring the smooth skin, pulled taut as the muscles were stretched to allow Aramis access.

Spreading his fingers wide, Aramis flattened his tongue and dragged it firmly across the ring of muscle, listening to Porthos' breath shaking. There was a soft groan as the dark thighs trembled and Aramis smiled, the smile widening when a soft huff of breath let Aramis know Porthos had felt him smile.

“Sire,” Porthos groaned.

Aramis scraped his teeth across the taut flesh and felt Porthos' muscles clench out of reflex at the light, dangerous flirtation. The skin was wet with Aramis' saliva, him having been there for quite a while. It had dribbled down Aramis' chin, settling in his beard, his entire mouth and jaw, shiny with wetness.

Finally relenting, Aramis moved his mouth from Porthos' entrance, taking the opportunity to add a third finger. The appreciative groan from his lover was cut short when Aramis bit the back of his thigh. The skin was salty with sweat and a fine tremor was running through the muscle.

“Sire,” Porthos repeated. “So... Close, Sire.”

“Good boy,” Aramis whispered, raising himself to his own knees without removing his fingers. He twisted them, spreading the digits slightly just to see the way Porthos arched his back, rolling his hips invitingly.

“I need... Sire,” Porthos panted.

“Yes?” Aramis asked, stopping for a moment.

“Thank you,” Porthos gasped. He took a few ragged breaths, focusing his thoughts. “I don't know if I can last, Sire,” he said, finally able to finish his thoughts.

“Thank you for telling me,” Aramis answered, softly.

It had been a rule for many years that Porthos was not permitted to climax until Aramis said so. The marksman took a moment to debate his options. Since three of his fingers were still firmly seated inside Porthos, he could feel the tissues trembling as his lover was so on edge.

He ran a soothing hand down Porthos' back but could tell even from here that he was too close to back off this time. He'd been on the verge of orgasm for more than twenty minutes and it was the tenth or fifteenth time Aramis had taken him this close over the course of the day. Aramis smiled at the moonlight shining through the window and decided to change his plans slightly.

“Kneel up, please,” he murmured.

Wrapping one arm around Porthos' torso, he guided Porthos upright, still without removing his fingers from Porthos' body, causing the man to groan loudly as his body adjusted.

“You're going to take four and may come when my hand touches your cock, but not before,” Aramis murmured into Porthos' ear, his nose brushing the cloth blinding his lover.

“Yes Master,” Porthos panted gratefully.

“Hands,” Aramis added, amused.

Porthos shuddered slightly and his bound hands quickly adjusted and found Aramis' hard member, pressed against his back. The bindings were too tight to allow him much movement and he fluttered them in slight confusion.

“Just hold me,” Aramis soothed, his fingers beginning to stroke in and out of Porthos' body. He let out a contented sigh as the strong, rough fingers formed a tight channel around him and he began to rock into Porthos' grip. “Good boy,” he murmured.

Porthos' body relaxed slightly with the affirmation and he groaned softly as Aramis' talented fingers began to thrust more firmly into him. The slight step back from the edge his body had taken while they changed position was gone in an instant.

“Master,” Porthos groaned, his head falling forwards.

Aramis scowled as his right thigh began to shake. It had been recently injured and was still weak but Aramis hadn't expected it to be quite this weak. He wrapped his arm more tightly around Porthos' torso and began to twist the fingers of his other hand, earning another loud groan from the man in his arms.

Settling back slightly onto his heels, Aramis grimaced at the pain in his leg but guided Porthos back a little so he could move his arm. Gently, he slipped his smallest finger into Porthos' body alongside the other three and Porthos arched his back for a moment before leaning heavily back against Aramis, his head falling back onto his Master's shoulder.

“Oh good boy,” Aramis crooned. “Good boy. Taking them so beautifully, mi vida. My wonderful boy.”

Porthos panted heavily, his body shaking with tension. Aramis let go of Porthos' torso and held his palm against the man's stomach, carefully avoiding his weeping cock. He took a moment to make sure his body was steady and able to support Porthos' body weight before clamping his teeth around the flesh of Porthos' shoulder.

Without waiting another moment, Aramis did three things all at once. He savagely bit down, earning a loud shout of pain that was suddenly cut off by a yelp of surprise when all four of Aramis' fingers thrust suddenly into his body. Seconds later all sounds were cut off as his mouth fell open in a wordless yell as his climax tore through him. Aramis' other hand had gripped his length and after two firm strokes he began to spend, his hips thrusting helplessly into Aramis' fist.

Aramis stroked Porthos through it, pain building in his compressed thigh as his lover's body shuddered, hours of built up tension finally being released. As the violent shaking calmed to more of a tremble, Aramis removed his fingers gently from Porthos' body and began to lick and kiss at the red arc of teeth marks in the dark flesh.

A gentle flutter of the hands pressed against his cock let Aramis know Porthos was finally returning to awareness.

“No,” Aramis whispered, a smile evident in his voice. “Not now.”

Porthos sagged back against Aramis, his body turning to almost dead weight and Aramis had to bite his lip as pain flared in his leg again.

“OK to move?” he asked in a whisper.

Porthos turned his head, still blindfolded, and smiled drowsily over his shoulder before nodding.

Aramis eased Porthos up on his knees before using both hands to gently guide him forwards onto his stomach, shuffling awkwardly to make room for Porthos' long legs.

“Wet,” Porthos grumbled.

“I can make it so there is no wet spot ever again if you like,” Aramis suggested.”

Porthos nuzzled his face into the pillow to hide a grin and Aramis couldn't help smiling as he pulled himself to his feet. His leg shook slightly and he gritted his teeth for a moment until it stopped.

“Sire?” Porthos asked uncertainly, his still blindfolded face turned towards Aramis, hearing his slight intake of breath.

“I'm fine, mi vida. Relax. Relax, my love,” Aramis soothed, stroking his hand over Porthos' hip.

As Porthos relaxed into the mattress, Aramis set about undoing the ropes around his wrists. He smiled at the way Porthos let himself be man handled, rapidly sinking towards sleep, as he removed the ropes, turned Porthos onto his side, cleaned his stomach gently and slid into bed beside him.

Only when Aramis was curled into Porthos' arms, the sheet pulled up over their bodies, did Aramis reach up and remove the blindfold.

“m'not stupid,” Porthos murmured drowsily.

“Hmm?”

“You're still hiding your body from me,” Porthos mumbled.

“Not... from **you** ,” Aramis answered softly, stroking Porthos' hand as it rested on his pale stomach.

“You're gorgeous,” Porthos sighed sleepily.

“I was,” Aramis muttered.

“Gorgeous,” Porthos argued drowsily.

“Inside perhaps,” Aramis murmured. “Sleep, mi vida.”

“Mmkay,” Porthos sighed, unable to fight the sleep pulling at him. “You're still gorgeous.”

Aramis tried hard to believe him but while he listened to Porthos' rumbling snores begin as he fell asleep, Aramis couldn't help fingering the pale marks still lingering on his stomach. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' friends put their plan into motion.

“So what did Lemay have to say?” d'Artagnan asked, dropping heavily onto the bench beside Aramis.

“Still going well,” Aramis answered, distracted. “How did today go?”

“Two deaths. Two arrests,” Athos huffed, sitting on the bench opposite d'Artagnan and Aramis.

“Everyone OK?” Aramis asked.

“We're all good,” Porthos answered, tossing his thick leather gauntlets onto the table, grabbing a chunk of bread before taking his own seat beside Athos. “Just very tired.”

Aramis exhaled slowly and stared down at the grain of the wood. He was still recovering from his particularly severe thigh injury and remained unhappy about seeing his best friends out on missions without him. He'd been waiting for them since the sun had set and it was now well after midnight.

“So what did the surgeon say?” Porthos asked.

“Still going well,” Aramis repeated.

“Uh huh,” grunted Porthos before yawning widely.

Aramis glanced up to find all three of them staring at him expectantly.

“I'm cleared to ride now but there's still a significant amount of weakness and he won't permit me to resume training with a sword,” Aramis admitted.

“You can ride?” d'Artagnan asked, excitedly.

“Yes,” he said slowly, frowning at the sudden brightness in his friend's eyes.

“Athos?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Of course,” Athos answered, pulling himself to his feet. “I'll ask Serge.”

“What's going on?” Aramis asked, suspiciously.

“It's a surprise!” d'Artagnan exclaimed. “Go home but be ready to leave when the sun comes up.”

“Porthos?” Aramis asked, turning his head.

“C'mon,” Porthos answered, standing up and collecting his hat and gloves.

Aramis peered suspiciously up at Porthos but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“You really aren't going to tell me?” Aramis asked as he slowly made his way up the stairs to their home. He was able to do it without assistance now but was still slow.

Porthos chuckled from behind him.

“You know I will if you tell me to,” he said, brightly. “It's meant to be a surprise, though.”

“I should know some of what it's about, shouldn't I?” Aramis argued, reaching the top.

Porthos just grinned widely as he opened the door.

“What do you think you need to know?”

Aramis scowled at him and walked into their apartment.

“How long I'm going to be riding. How long will we be away? Do I need to pack anything? Is it dangerous?” Aramis muttered.

Porthos stepped close behind Aramis and pressed his lips gently against Aramis' neck, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Maximum of an hour. One night only. I've done it, already. No,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis tried hard to maintain his scowl but the soothing warmth of Porthos' body against his back was too familiar and too comforting. He relaxed against Porthos, leaning his head back against the man's shoulder and resting his hands on top of Porthos'.

“Let us surprise you, love,” Porthos hummed softly against Aramis' ear.

“OK,” Aramis murmured, dropping his hands as a silent instruction to continue their ritual of removing his weapons and coat.

“Will I enjoy the surprise?” Aramis asked a few minutes later in their bedroom as he removed his shirt.

“I... hope so,” Porthos hedged as he removed all of his clothes swiftly.

“Hope?” Aramis asked, suspiciously.

Porthos slid to his knees in a designated spot and just smiled up at Aramis.

“Hope?” he asked again.

“I hope so,” Porthos repeated. “You know I'll give you all the details you like if you want but I really want you to trust us.”

Aramis surveyed Porthos' innocently smiling face for a moment before unlacing his breeches and braies. He took a step sideways and sat on the edge of the bed to remove them. He frowned slightly and beckoned Porthos closer.

“Sire?” Porthos asked, shuffling forwards obediently.

“Close your eyes,” Aramis whispered.

“Not necessary, Sire. Your body is a marvel,” Porthos said quietly, closing his eyes as he spoke.

“Not any more,” Aramis answered, sighing. He lifted one foot into Porthos' lap.

“I disagree,” Porthos said quietly, obeying the silent instruction to remove the remainder of Aramis' clothes.

Aramis didn't answer, staring at the ugly patch of rippled skin along the side of his thigh. Even fully healed it was visible as a depression. He couldn't stop himself pressing his index finger into the groove, the scar being long and wide enough to settle his digit along the length of it.

Porthos' hands began to run up his calves and Aramis realised he was finished.

“Sire?” Porthos said tentatively, his eyes still closed.

“Mm?” Aramis asked, tearing his attention away from the ugly scar on his leg.

“Since I'm down here...” Porthos said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows, even though his eyes remained closed.

Aramis smiled despite himself.

“Are you trying to seduce me, mi vida?” he asked, parting his legs slightly.

“I might be,” Porthos grinned, feeling the movement and leaning forwards slightly.

“Closer then,” Aramis said quietly, unable to deny the twitch in his groin the sight his kneeling, obedient lover always gave him.

Porthos complied, shuffling forwards and only stopping when fingers pressed into his shoulder.

“Sire,” he breathed, eyes still closed.

“Mhmm,” Aramis murmured.

He watched with a smirk as Porthos leaned towards him, licking his lips, able to recognise Aramis was stroking himself, even with his eyes closed.

“Not sated after last night?” Aramis asked.

“Told you you were gorgeous,” Porthos shrugged.

“Are you doing this to prove something?” Aramis asked, frowning.

“Not at all, Sire,” Porthos answered calmly, eyes still closed. “You put me on my knees at your feet and told me to undress you. What did you think I'd want?” he asked, grinning.

Aramis laughed softly and used his free hand to guide Porthos' mouth to his groin.

  
  


  
  


 

  
  


It felt like the middle of the night when Aramis found himself being gently shaken awake. He still struggled to sleep since the captivity that left him the scars and resented being woken up so early.

“Sleeping,” Aramis muttered, turning onto his stomach.

“Surprise,” Porthos reminded him.

“Early,” Aramis protested.

“There's breakfast.”

At this, Aramis forced open one eye to peer at Porthos who was crouched by the bed, fully dressed.

“You're wearing too many clothes,” Aramis grumbled.

“I'm wearing the correct amount of clothes for your surprise,” Porthos corrected.

“Then I want a different surprise,” Aramis said, pushing himself onto one elbow.

Porthos chuckled softly and leaned forwards to kiss him.

“While I adore you and your morning appetites, Athos and d'Artagnan are in the kitchen,” Porthos said, grinning.

“With breakfast?” Aramis asked, brightening.

“And I am instantly forgotten,” Porthos chuckled, pushing himself to his feet.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Aramis?” Athos asked from astride his horse, beside where Aramis was settling on his own.

Aramis waited a beat before answering, examining how steady he felt.

“I'm well,” Aramis answered. “Feels good,” he added, carefully testing the pressure on his thigh as he gripped the animal. He smiled down at Porthos who had helped him mount and nodded briefly.

“So where are we going?” he asked Athos as d'Artagnan and Porthos led the way out of the city a few minutes later.

“You don't know?” Athos asked curiously.

“I was under the impression it was a surprise,” Aramis answered.

“It is,” Athos said, smiling slightly from under his hat. “I just thought your impatience would have made Porthos tell you.”

“He would have,” Aramis shrugged. “Will you now that we're on the way?”

Athos simply raised his eyebrows and Aramis sighed dramatically, recognising the refusal. A bark of laughter from ahead of them made Aramis look up in time to see d'Artagnan shove playfully at Porthos.

“They seem in high spirits,” Aramis said, turning back to Athos.

The taciturn man simply nodded. Only someone who knew him as well as his brothers did would have been able to recognise the fondness in the way he watched the men riding in front.

“Like they're looking forwards to wherever we're going,” Aramis pressed but beyond his slight smile, Athos didn't reply. The marksman shook his head ruefully as he followed d'Artagnan and Porthos who were turning from the road into the trees.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four friends arrive at their destination and Aramis learns of their plan.

They'd been riding for less than an hour through the trees, following some unseen path, when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a small house appeared in a clearing. Aramis was still staring at it when a hand on his leg made him start slightly to find Porthos had already dismounted and was stood beside him.

“Is this where... where... we met...” Aramis tried to ask.

“Flea. Yeah,” Porthos answered softly. “Tréville owns it. Him and the Cardinal 'ave done some work over the summer and now you haveta know it's here to find it.”

Aramis allowed himself to be helped down, his leg shaking as it began to bear his weight, and stared at the house.

Last time they'd been here they'd been able to pull a carriage up to the front doors but several large bushes now blocked the way. Climbing plants covered the building, giving it a wild appearance. The surrounding trees towered over it by at least three feet and he could see faint tracks where the path used to lead to the road but these were almost obscured by thick spiny looking bushes.

A gentle hand on the small of his back made him look round to see Porthos watching him curiously.

“It's so pretty,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos pressed a quick kiss to his temple and moved away with the horses to where Athos had his and d'Artagnan's mounts already to one side of the small building. D'Artagnan had his and Athos' bags slung over his shoulder and held out his arm to Aramis who gratefully leaned on it slightly to walk slowly towards the building.

“Can I hear water?” Aramis asked, glancing around, trying to see through the thick trees and bushes.

“The river is a couple of minutes walk behind the house. It's great. You can hear the river from here but you can't see the house from the river,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning.

The Gascon pushed open the door and Aramis simply stared in shock for a few seconds, standing still as a statue on the threshold. If the outside of the house was different, the inside was almost unrecognisable. Last time they'd visited, it had been almost bare. A fireplace, a small table, four threadbare chairs and a dubious looking bed had been the only things in the single room.

Now the floor had been scrubbed clean and while it still held the normal dust of a wooden floor, it no longer seemed coated in grime. The small table was still there but the four rickety armchairs had been replaced by two chaise lounges and two padded armchairs. A matching footstool sat beside the more ornate, thickly padded, of the two, complete with matching deep red upholstery. This collection was gathered loosely around the table in front of the fireplace. A simple wooden desk stood in the corner, chair tucked neatly under it while a tall free standing cupboard was on the other side of the fireplace beside a small pot for cooking.

The other end of the room was dominated by a very large four poster bed, complete with sheer red hangings. This was so far from the moth eaten mattress that had stood there last time they visited that Aramis was still staring at it in shock when Porthos stepped up behind him and placed his hands gently on Aramis' hips.

“Hi,” Porthos breathed into his ear.

“Porthos... This is beautiful,” he breathed.

“We had planned to simply take you riding as soon as Lemay cleared you but Tréville said you'd only be allowed to do short distances at first and maybe not sleep on the ground,” d'Artagnan explained, beaming at Aramis.

“He suggested this as a treat,” Porthos said, his chin on Aramis' shoulder.

“This is his?” Aramis asked, not quite believing his eyes. He walked forwards slowly to the collection of furniture.

“His and the Cardinal's,” Athos corrected as he entered, closing the door softly behind him. “They share it to meet and house their more sensitive associates. We're sworn to secrecy about its very existence.”

“I can see why,” Aramis said, stepping out of Porthos' embrace to run his fingers over the back of the deep red armchair.

Porthos smiled and put their bag to one side where d'Artagnan had laid his and Athos'. He watched as Aramis moved around the room, touching things, examining curiously. Athos was starting a fire and d'Artagnan stood beside him with a candlestick, waiting for the flame. A price paid for the seclusion was very little light got into the room.

“So what's the plan?” Aramis asked, leaning against one of the bedposts, his circuit completed.

“Whatever you wish, Sire,” Porthos answered. “We need to be out before dusk tomorrow Other than that, we can do as we wish.”

“Anything?” Aramis asked, patting the mattress suggestively and Porthos laughed.

“Yes Sire. Anything,” he replied, walking closer until he could rest his hand on top of Aramis' on the bed.

Aramis raised his eyebrows sceptically, flicking his gaze to d'Artagnan and Athos who were now moving around the room lighting candles.

“Anything, Sire. Your treat,” Porthos answered, shrugging.

“Ti amo,” Aramis whispered.

“Mi sol,” Porthos replied before kissing Aramis' forehead.

“You said the river is close?” Aramis asked as d'Artagnan joined them.

“I did,” the Gascon said, excitedly.

“I haven't been in the water in as long as I can remember,” Aramis said, letting some of his nerves into his voice.

“Then let's swim,” Athos said, softly.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Less than ten minutes later found Porthos and d'Artagnan swimming in just their braies. Both of them loved to swim and often took the opportunity, leaving Aramis and Athos to dry land.

Athos was stood in the water beside the bank, also in just his braies, while Aramis was sat on the bank trailing his feet in the water. He'd taken his outerwear off but remained in both his braies and shirt.

“Come on,” Athos said gently.

“It's still weak,” Aramis said nervously, his hand resting on his still healing thigh.

“I'm here,” Athos answered.

“Yes but if I fall the risk is somewhat higher in water,” Aramis said, trying to sound scathing but his voice shook slightly.

“I'm here,” Athos repeated simply.

Aramis nodded and took a deep breath. As he made ready to push himself off the bank, however, Athos leaned in and took his hands. Aramis smiled gratefully and slowly stood, sliding off the bank and finding his feet on the bottom of the river.

While the river wasn't fast, and certainly not at the bank where it barely got to Aramis' knees, the sensation of it swirling against his legs was unsettling. He still needed a few seconds to adjust when bearing weight and the added movement of the water made him nervous. There was a reassuring squeeze to his hands and he glanced up to find Athos' calm grey eyes watching him. A slight raise to one eyebrow asked the question his voice didn't need to.

“Not steady yet,” Aramis answered honestly.

Athos simply nodded once and continued to hold Aramis' hands although if Aramis was honest it was more for comfort than actual assistance. Another brief moment of pressure and a quick swipe of Athos' thumb let him know the older man felt the same and didn't mind at all. A few tentative steps and Aramis was submerged up to his chest, his shirt billowing around him in the water. He beamed at Athos and let go of his hands.

“Want to try swimming?” Athos asked.

Aramis was gazing fondly at where Porthos and d'Artagnan seemed to be competing as the pair rushed towards them and shook his head.

“Not sure I'm up for that. It's... I'm aching a lot after the ride,” he admitted.

Athos nodded and the two of them stood together, swaying slightly as the water came at them in small waves caused by their racing lovers.

D'Artagnan reached them first, letting out a cry of triumph as he almost collided with Athos, willingly collapsing into the older man's arms as they came out reflexively to steady him. Porthos followed less than a body length's behind him but his arrival was much smoother, avoiding Aramis and surging to a stop beside the marksman.

“Sire,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into Aramis' hair as the water gradually settled around them.

“Youth over power,” d'Artagnan announced, panting.

“Yer skin and bones. Less of you to move around,” Porthos shrugged, looping an arm casually around Aramis' waist.

“I won,” d'Artagnan grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Porthos chuckled.

“Did you just graciously admit defeat?” Aramis asked, smiling at Porthos.

“I must be growing up,” he answered. “You wanna try swimming?”

“Athos offered but I don't think I'm ready for that yet,” Aramis replied.

Porthos chewed his lip for a moment before speaking.

“'praps just float for a bit?”

Athos watched his friends. Their eyes flickered rapidly and a whole conversation passed between them in the minute's silence. He watched as Aramis considered for a moment before nodding slowly, apprehension all over his face.

“D'Artagnan and I will go and lay some traps,” Athos said, taking d'Artagnan by the elbow. “We'll be close by.”

The two of them moved away, d'Artagnan choosing to swim and Athos simply wading back to the bank. Aramis watched them go and turned back to Porthos, black eyes searching brown.

“Are you sure it... My leg... Are you sure I'm ready for this?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Absolutely. It's your stomach that holds you up, not your leg, and I'm here,” Porthos answered quietly. He leaned in and pressed another kiss to Aramis' temple.

Aramis blew a deep breath out and nodded, looping an arm around Porthos' shoulders.

“I'm not throwing you into the air,” Porthos said, smirking and Aramis laughed, some of his tension leeching out. He rested his hand on Aramis' buttocks under the water and Aramis laughed again.

“This is a terrible excuse to touch me,” he said. “As if I'm an innocent woman you're helping onto a horse and your hand has slipped.”

Porthos chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest and it calmed Aramis further. He nodded and bounced a little on the balls of his feet, bringing them up off the riverbed. A gentle push on his buttocks and he was soon on his back on the surface. A few seconds of adjusting and he felt Porthos' hands fall away.

“OK?” Porthos asked in a soft voice and Aramis realised his eyes were closed.

“Yes,” he answered softly, a smile curving his lips. “Stay close, though.”

“Of course,” Porthos answered, his own smile evident in his voice.

Aramis wasn't entirely sure how long he floated there on the water. The gentle motion of the current lifted his hair off his scalp and he could feel it floating gently around his head. Porthos didn't touch him at all but Aramis could feel him stood close, moving just slightly when Aramis did to remain within arm's reach, like a magnet following the pull of its partner. He began to use his hands to pull himself along in the water, just an inch or two at a time, turning this way and that, just to experiment. Even this small movement, however, seemed to ruin his calm state and he stopped, content to just drift on the water.

“Sire,” Porthos whispered after some time.

“Mmm?”

“We're moving away from the house,” Porthos said softly.

Aramis opened his eyes and squinted at the trees, realising the current had moved them significantly far downstream.

“Tow me back?” he asked, pouting.

“Yes Sire,” Porthos answered, grinning down at him.

Aramis lifted his arms and stretched them above his head wiggling his hands impatiently. Porthos obligingly took hold of them and began to wade backwards, towing Aramis with him, the both of them chuckling. Aramis tilted his head back, dipping his forehead down into the water to watch Porthos.

“You look good upside down,” he said, grinning.

“You look bloody amazing from this angle,” Porthos answered, his eyebrows raised.

Aramis lifted his head and glanced down the length of his body, realising the wet material of both his braies and shirt left very little to the imagination, pulled taut as they were and almost translucent with the water. He felt the now familiar flutter of discomfort at the idea of the ugly scar on his leg, the marks on his stomach, the lines on his back being visible but realised the material showed only the contours of his body and not the superficial details. He tilted his head back to smile tentatively at Porthos.

“You like what you see?” Aramis asked.

“So much,” Porthos said, grinning before glancing over his shoulder. He began to turn towards the bank, pulling Aramis gently with him.

“Let's just lay here for a little while,” Aramis said as they began to make their way out of the water. “A bit further into the trees,” he added, glancing around.

Porthos followed Aramis into the tree line and settled down on his back where indicated. He felt an immediate stirring in his groin at the proprietary way Aramis' eyes swept his body. Unlike Aramis, he was bare from the waist up and his skin tone meant even less was left to the imagination through the wet material.

“Arms up,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos obeyed, stretching him arms up above him, leaving his body exposed to Aramis' gaze.

“Breathtaking,” Aramis said quietly.

“You too, Sire. You're so-” Porthos began but stopped when Aramis held a hand up.

“Quiet. Athos and d'Artagnan are out here laying traps. Don't want them to see you like this, do you?”

Porthos frowned for a second before giving a very exaggerated shrug. This surprised Aramis who settled onto his knees, straddling Porthos' wet material clad hips.

“You don't mind?” he asked quietly, stroking the beads of water on Porthos' stomach away. “You can answer.”

“I trust them both. I trust you. Doesn't mean I wouldn't be embarrassed or nervous but... They both know and it's all about you, right?” Porthos said softly.

“It is,” Aramis said, thoughtfully. “When you say embarrassed and nervous...”

“Good way,” Porthos answered huskily.

Aramis smiled and understood. Porthos had been through this when Athos had first discovered the nature of their relationship and again when he'd first begun to join them intimately. He was a relatively private person and yet being on display for Aramis gave him a mingled sense of embarrassment and pride. Given he usually felt nervous before any of Aramis' more extravagant or intense ideas, the apprehension was all tied up with arousal and it was all one tangled ball for Porthos. Aramis considered this while his hands continued to stroke Porthos' belly.

“So when you said anything earlier...” Aramis said, curiously.

“Anything, Sire. Today and tonight are about you,” Porthos answered.

Aramis smiled down at him before reaching and placing a fingertip across Porthos' lips.

“Very generous of you, mi vida,” Aramis said quietly. His hands shifted to Porthos' hips and began to massage him gently. “Have you spoken to the others about it?”

Porthos nodded but didn't speak.

“Both of them?”

Porthos shook his head.

“Just Athos and he spoke to d'Artagnan?”

Porthos nodded his head again.

“I take it they're on board?”

Porthos nodded but more slowly., his eyes slightly narrowed.

“If we don't overwhelm the Gascon?”

Porthos nodded and Aramis moved his hands to press one, palm down, on Porthos' heart and with the other he gripped the leather strap around Porthos' knee.

“You're going to tell me how you're feeling every time I ask. You are going to inform me if at any point the bad feelings outweigh the good. You're going to stay within arm's reach,” Aramis listed, his voice soft. “These protections are for me just as much as you.”

Porthos smiled and nodded his agreement.

“What time do you think it is? Do you think we have a couple of hours before midday still?”

Porthos nodded again.

“Then I think a nap is in order,” Aramis said quietly. “Will you talk nonsense to me?”

Porthos chuckled softly as Aramis shifted to lay beside him and, at an impatient gesture from Aramis, Porthos lowered his arms to hold Aramis close.

“Nonsense?” he asked quietly.

“Mhmm. Where we just talk about nothing until we fall asleep,” Aramis said quietly.

“Ah. That nonsense,” Porthos said, tugging Aramis closer until the man's head was on his chest, wet hair across Porthos' shoulder. “What else do you feel like doing tonight and tomorrow? We could hunt together. Maybe fishing. You've always been the best at that. We brought the guns but I don't want to make too much noise. Maybe we could...”

Aramis smiled and let the words wash over him, listening to the quiet rumble in Porthos' chest as he spoke. He felt a unexpectedly peaceful sleep tugging at him and felt no urge to fight it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Aramis woke, he felt surprisingly warm and realised there was a body pressed up against his back as well as Porthos' body he was laying against. A quick glance over his shoulder and he was surprised to see it was d'Artagnan, his face nuzzled into the back of Aramis' neck and an arm slung over Aramis' hip. A further glance revealed that Athos was curled tightly against d'Artagnan's back but was awake and smiled when he noticed Aramis was, too.

“You were shivering,” Athos murmured.

“This was your solution?” Aramis asked, amused.

Athos shrugged slightly and Aramis turned back to nuzzle against Porthos' chest.

“Mmm. Hi Sire,” Porthos mumbled, his hand stroking Aramis' waist through his still damp shirt, trapped by the Gascon pressed against his lover's back.

“I was shivering?” he whispered uncertainly.

“Purely from cold. Fell asleep in wet clothes,” Porthos whispered back and Aramis nodded gratefully.

His shirt had managed to hide the marring and disfigurement left on his skin but the last thing he needed was for the others to learn he carried the same kind of ugliness inside. He turned his head to glance at the sky.

“Midday?”

“Yes, Sire. You slept a long time,” Porthos said gently.

Aramis rested his head back on Porthos' chest, feeling absolutely no inclination to move. He smiled when d'Artagnan gave a small snuffle against his neck.

“He sleeps like the dead,” Porthos said, smirking.

“He does,” Athos murmured affectionately.

“As adorable as he is and as warm as I am...” Aramis said, trailing off.

“You need to move?” Athos guessed.

“Is it even possible to wake him up?” Porthos asked.

“Well I told him I was on watch. If he's on watch he's perfectly watchful and alert but if he knows someone else is, he sleeps and does so deeply,” Athos said. “But watch this.”

Porthos lifted his head to watch and Aramis turned to see as Athos rolled away on to his back, out of contact with d'Artagnan's body. He gave his friends a slightly smug smile when d'Artagnan mumbled in protest.

“Bloody hell,” Porthos mumbled.

Aramis chuckled when he felt d'Artagnan roll away from him in search of Athos.

“Hi puppy,” they heard Athos say quietly but they didn't catch d'Artagnan's reply.

Quiet murmurs between the two continued as Aramis reluctantly pushed himself to a sitting position. He shivered as he did so and leaned against Porthos who had sat up beside him.

“Shirt's still damp,” Aramis complained, fingering at the material that had bunched around his waist.

“You could take it off. Let it dry in the sun,” Porthos suggested gently.

Aramis shrugged and together they stood up, locating Porthos' clothes where he'd left them on a tree. By the time Porthos was lacing up his breeches, d'Artagnan and Athos were both on their feet, the former looking far more awake than previously.

“Nice nap?” the Gascon asked, grinning.

“It was,” Aramis said, brightly. His eyes swept the trees out of habit before he turned and kissed Porthos lightly. “I feel refreshed, relaxed... positively revitalised!”

“I feel hungry,” d'Artagnan mused.

“The traps should catch something overnight so until then, you'll have to... find something else to... snack on,” Aramis suggested, eyebrows raised.

“We brought food,” the Gascon said, happily.

D'Artagnan turned and led the way back to the house. Athos gave Aramis a pointed look and followed.

“Subtle, Sire. Real subtle,” Porthos murmured and they trailed after their friends.

  
  


 

  
  


“So what provisions have you brought?” Aramis asked from one of the chaise lounges, watching Athos and d'Artagnan gathering plates from the tall cupboard.

“Nothing fancy, I'm afraid,” d'Artagnan answered.

“No amazing feast? Fresh roasted meats? Spiced stews?” Aramis asked, sighing dramatically.

“We needed stuff that could travel and be packed at a moment's notice,” the Gascon answered over his shoulder.

“Why?” Aramis asked, surprised.

“We've been prepared for a fortnight,” Athos said quietly.

“Just needed to add you and the food,” d'Artagnan added, grinning.

Aramis couldn't answer for a moment. The swell of gratitude he had for his friends in that moment seemed to form a solid lump in his throat. Porthos, who was sat on the floor cleaning his boots, leaned back and grinned up at him.

“Thank you, my friends. Thank you,” Aramis said finally, his voice soft.

“Of course,” Athos said, nodding.

“Had any thoughts about what you want to do while we're out here?” d'Artagnan asked as he and Athos continued to prepare some food.

“Take advantage of the isolation and cause screams of pleasure so loud it would wake the neighbours?” he quipped without thinking.

“From us _all_?” Athos asked. Even without turning away from his task, his friends heard the smirk in his slow voice.

“Finally willing to share?” Aramis teased.

“As I have said before,” Athos replied quietly. “He isn't mine to give away.”

“I'm right here, y'know,” d'Artagnan chuckled, turning his head to scowl playfully at Aramis.

“So you are,” the marksman leered.

To Aramis' surprise, however, the Gascon neither blushed nor turned away. He simply smiled calmly back.

“Goodness. Are you offering what I think you are?” Aramis asked, startled yet again by the planning his friends had been doing.

“What is it you think I'm offering?” d'Artagnan asked, flashing Aramis a smile before turning back to his task with Athos.

“Sex,” Aramis answered, bluntly.

Porthos chuckled, flicking his eyes up from his boots. Even from across the room it was clear this comment had finally made d'Artagnan blush. He and Aramis both watched as Athos brushed his fingers over the small of d'Artagnan's back.

“Yes,” the Gascon said, after a moment.

He took a deep breath and turned to face Aramis and Porthos, plates in hand.

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Interesting,” Aramis said, slowly.

D'Artagnan could feel the heat rising in his face but swallowed hard, forcing himself to look back. A gentle touch to his elbow and he realised Athos was also finished.

Together, they carried the two plates of cold meats, cheese and bread across to the living area. While Porthos put his boots aside, Athos returned to their bags and came back with two bottles of wine and a small collection of dried fruits.

The four of them began to eat in a comfortable silence, passing the bottle between them regularly. By the time only the fruit was left, the wine was gone and Porthos had produced a pack of cards.

“You miss gambling with the Red Guards so much?” d'Artagnan teased.

“Gotta keep my skills fresh,” Porthos answered, shuffling them. “We can play for fruit.”

Athos raised an eyebrow at him before flicking his eyes up to the amused smile on Aramis' face.

“OK,” he said softly, rising from his armchair and collecting another two bottles of wine.

“But you two aren't allowed to sit next to each other,” d'Artagnan said, pointing back and forth between Aramis and Porthos.

“Why ever-” Aramis began.

“You cheat,” the Gascon interrupted.

“Honest to goodness!” Aramis cried, dramatically bringing his hand to his breast. “We would never-”

“You two cheat,” Athos said, returning. He handed one bottle to Aramis and smirked slightly.

A quick rearrangement of the furniture had the two chairs pulled much closer to the chaise lounge that Aramis was stretched out on while Porthos remained on the floor. At d'Artagnan's insistence, he had moved further along to sit beside Aramis' legs. By the time they had run out of fruit, both bottles of wine had gone and the laughter had crept up. Porthos had shuffled up a little and was leaning back against the furniture, stopping himself from swaying where he sat. Aramis had turned and forced himself to sit upright to stop himself falling asleep. D'Artagnan was slumped sideways in his armchair, pretending not to be sneaking glances at Athos' cards. It was Athos, of all of them, who appeared unaffected, but even he was slurring his speech a little.

“Guess the game's over,” d'Artagnan said, staring sadly at the plate.

“Could play for coin,” Porthos said, hopefully.

“I didn't bring any,” Athos said quietly.

“We have none to bring,” Aramis chuckled and Porthos grinned sideways at him.

“That doesn't normally stop us,” Athos said, smirking.

“It doesn't?” d'Artagnan asked while Porthos laughed.

Athos' smirk deepened and he stood, carefully stepping over Porthos' legs to the small kitchen area.

“Well...” Porthos said, carefully. “We've been known to play... for... clothes, rather than money. Instead of the winner getting money, or fruit, the losers remove a garment.”

D'Artagnan laughed and then, realising they were serious, blushed a little.

“You... strip off?”

“Think of it less like stripping off and more like... Well instead of being incentivised to win, you're more... disinclined to lose,” Aramis said, raising his eyebrows.

“Well I'm in,” d'Artagnan said, grinning nervously. He stood up and stretched. “Just gonna visit the woods first.”

Porthos turned to grin at Aramis but saw a slight strain in his smile.

“Sire?”

“I'm not sure I should... I'm still... nobody should have to look at me,” he mumbled.

Porthos shifted onto his knees and stretched up to kiss Aramis.

“I love looking at you,” Porthos argued gently.

“Yes well.. You're biased. Nobody else will,” Aramis said, rubbing his thigh nervously.

Porthos' large hand covered Aramis' and squeezed gently.

“You're still the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Your new scars and your old scars, all just as beautiful,” he said quietly. “You can always say no, though.”

“Then they'll know,” Aramis said, staring at his thigh where their hands joined.

“Know what, love?”

“That the... I'm damaged,” Aramis whispered.

A giggle sounded from the doorway and Aramis glanced up to see d'Artagnan and Athos sharing a brief kiss, Athos' hand gripping the Gascon's waist firmly. Porthos didn't even glance round.

“We've all been wounded,” he said softly. “You've been the one to stitch us back up every time. Wounds and scars don't mean permanently damaged.”

“It's fine. I'm fine,” Aramis said, drawing his hand back as Athos and d'Artagnan approached. Porthos frowned but Aramis waved him away. “Fine, Porthos.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos murmured, turning back around to face their friends.

  
  


 

“Now we're getting somewhere,” d'Artagnan cried excitedly as Athos reluctantly pulled his shirt off.

After another couple of hours d'Artagnan was down to just his braies and hose. Porthos was down to his shirt and braies. Athos, having lost his shirt in the last round, was down to just his linens, one step from total nudity. Aramis was still sat on the sofa having lost his breeches and one hose only so far, still left in one hose, his underwear and his shirt.

“Why do I ever play this game?” Athos said, throwing his shirt at d'Artagnan.

“Aw, don't be like that,” d'Artagnan said, leaning over the arms of both of their chairs. His hand stroked Athos' stomach affectionately.

“Your arm,” Porthos said, his head tilted.

“Hm?”

“I haven't seen that scar before,” Porthos said.

Athos lifted his arm revealing a thin white scar on the underside of his upper arm, leading into the patch of hair.

“It was when he was learning as a kid,” d'Artagnan supplied. He got up and settled sideways on Athos' lap, stroking the line with his finger.

“Just never seen it before,” Porthos said, tilting his head.

“We've all seen yours,” d'Artagnan grinned.

Aramis shifted uncomfortably, the topic making his own new scars itch. There were lines criss crossing his back that were likely to fade but not entirely, matching lines across his chest and stomach, a deep knife scar on his arm and that big ugly patch on his thigh. His hand gripped it reflexively.

“Yeah, yeah. I heard. You all ogled me happily when I was shirtless,” Porthos said, shuffling the cards with practised ease. “Are you staying there?”

“I am,” d'Artagnan said, grinning. He couldn't help shifting slightly, causing two hands to come and gently grip his hips, holding him still.

“Cease,” Athos murmured into d'Artagnan's ear.

“I can't help it... The reminder of all those years you put into training... All those times you must have gotten hot... sweaty... maybe even a little dirty...” d'Artagnan hummed.

Athos raised an eyebrow at him but tilted his chin up slightly so that when d'Artagnan spoke, their lips almost, almost brushed.

“I know the story... You were tired... been training all day... your sword master nicked you... blood trickling down your arm... mingled with the sweat... you kept on until you'd perfected the remise he was teaching you that day,” d'Artagnan said.

The hands on his hips tightened and Athos couldn't resist kissing him suddenly. D'Artagnan made a muffled noise of surprise and kissed back happily, his own hands cradling Athos' face gently.

As they pulled apart, Athos' eyes roamed across d'Artagnan's face and he lifted one hand to gently stroke the small scar interrupting his left eyebrow.

“You have your own training story,” he said softly.

“That's true,” Porthos said from his place on the floor. “I haven't heard how our pretty young farmer ended up with a cut eyebrow.”

“I had been told not to train with the edged blades,” d'Artagnan said, reclining more comfortably against the arm of the chair, Athos' arm looped around his waist.

“But you couldn't do as you were told,” Athos said softly, already knowing the story.

“No I thought I was ready. I knew the moves. I knew how to hold it. I knew how to defend myself,” d'Artagnan said arrogantly.

“Uh huh,” Porthos said, guessing where this story went.

“So one night I switched them. The next morning I brought out the edged blades, excited and eager. I guess I was over confident and-”

“Imagine that,” Athos murmured, quietly interrupting.

“Aaaand,” d'Artagnan continued, ignoring him. “I lunged and my Father caught me across the forehead. He was most upset.”

Porthos laughed, clearly imagining the scene.

“Our hot head was always a hot head,” he said, grinning.

“We can take the man out of Gascony...” Athos hummed, kissing just behind d'Artagnan's ear.

“Indeed,” Porthos chuckled, dealing the cards. “Are you planning on moving?”

“Nope,” d'Artagnan answered. “Since you guys have clearly been cheating, I think we should be allowed a little teamwork!”

“Cheating? You know I never do that,” Porthos answered, winking.

Athos didn't answer and simply gestured at his friends who were, after all, nearly fully dressed.

“It's skill, not cheating,” Aramis argued but there was a slight tightening around his eyes.

“Up you get, pup. I need to visit outside,” Athos said, gently nudging d'Artagnan off his lap.

“Me too,” the Gascon answered, obligingly getting up.

Athos caught Porthos' eye and lifted them to Aramis. Porthos nodded and watched the two shirtless men disappear before turning to face Aramis. He was slightly surprised to find Aramis smiling down at him.

“Are you cheating, mi vida?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” Porthos answered, unashamed.

“To protect me?” Aramis asked.

“Yes love,” Porthos answered.

“You're such a good friend,” Aramis said, his eyes sad.

“You want the game to stop?”

Aramis glanced down at himself, scars hidden just by the thin layer of his shirt and underwear. He nodded slowly.

“Okay love,” Porthos said. He turned over slightly and leaned over to kiss Aramis gently.

“So how do we decide who wins?” d'Artagnan asked, skipping across the room.

“I think since we got you down to just your smalls, we win,” Porthos said, laughing.

D'Artagnan pouted and turned to Athos, his hand landing on the other man's hip.

“Athos. Tell 'em,” he grumbled.

“I'm too busy enjoying your skin,” Athos answered softly. His hand came up and stroked d'Artagnan's back, fingers tracing a small raised line on his shoulder blade. “Where's this one from?”

“Oh... I... It was when I was a kid. There was a man on a neighbouring farm who misunderstood that... children don't grasp the concept of invisible property boundaries,” d'Artagnan answered, glancing at the ceiling.

“My lovely boy,” Athos said and quickly, gently kissed the small frown appearing on his lover's forehead.

D'Artagnan's face quickly broke into a smile and he kissed Athos gently.

“Your lip?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing so traumatic. A sword when I first joined the regiment,” Athos answered, leading d'Artagnan back to the chair.

“I did the best I could,” Aramis said, frowning at Athos.

“You did excellent work,” Athos said.

“You stitched all of their wounds, right?” d'Artagnan asked. He perched on the arm of the chair instead of settling into Athos' lap again.

“Most,” Aramis said, nodding.

“Your ribs?” he asked, turning to Athos.

The older man obligingly raised his arm, exposing the neat line below the line of his pectoral and wrapping around his side.

“Porthos' back,” Athos said, nodding at him.

“I haven't seen that since it healed, actually,” d'Artagnan said, tilting his head.

Porthos pulled off his shirt and turned to the side so everyone could see the neatly edged triangle on his shoulder blade.

“Wow. That healed so well,” d'Artagnan said, leaning forwards and looking closer. “It was so bad.”

“You wouldn't believe the one on his waist almost killed him, either,” Athos observed.

Porthos twisted further around.

“Can't even see the one on the back of your leg any more,” d'Artagnan said quietly to Athos. “Is it weird that I know those scars are coming?”

Athos raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well they're... it's... I dunno... They're all like proof of what you've been through,” d'Artagnan said. He slid sideways into his own armchair and frowned, the alcohol finally taking its effect.

“You wish to be scarred?” Aramis asked, his voice harsher than intended, making Porthos and Athos exchange a glance.

“No... But it's... I dunno... They're all proof. Like... There's a story behind all of them and each one is a little piece of you and tells me who you are, what you've been through and most of them show the... bravery,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

“What do you mean?” Aramis asked.

“Well like the one on the back of Athos' leg. He got that fighting for those girls. Porthos' shoulder. Trying to get to a slave trader. Even when they're just nicks like Athos' lip... They tell a story of you being there to stitch him,” d'Artagnan said, forcing himself back upright.

“You make them sound so romantic,” Aramis said.

“Aren't they?” Athos asked, quietly. “Was it not the wound on Porthos' waist that brought the three of us so much closer?”

“Île de Ré was the real beginning for us,” Porthos said quietly, looking up at Aramis.

“Some are worse than others,” the marksman said quietly.

“Like my mouth?” Athos asked, equally quiet.

“Or my eye?” d'Artagnan asked, frowning.

“Or mine,” Porthos asked and as he did so, he turned on his knees again to face Aramis. “Remember how I didn't like you seeing my back? Or touching my face?”

Aramis nodded but didn't answer.

“We're all scarred,” Athos said quietly.

Aramis lifted his gaze to Athos and then flicked it to d'Artagnan who was smiling at him.

“Am I being taught a lesson?” he asked, smiling back slightly.

“If you take a lesson from the sight of your friends being shirtless, so be it,” Athos answered.

Aramis sighed quietly and leaned forwards, pulling it off with Porthos' help. As he sat back, Porthos stretched up on his knees, fingers tracing the oldest scar on his ribs. The newest marks overlapped and weren't as dark but Porthos traced them, too. He followed them up the line of Aramis' torso, brushing across the lash marks that coloured his chest and finally landing on the bullet wound on his shoulder, the aforementioned scar from Île de Ré.

“Beautiful,” Porthos said.

“They're not,” Aramis whispered, tears in his eyes. His fists were clenched tightly on his thighs.

“I see a man who knowingly went into danger to rescue his friend. I see a man who held up under torture and despite the horrific treatment, held up honourably. Never gave up on his lover. Never gave in,” Athos said, holding Aramis' eyes.

“I don't see that,” he answered, hands shaking as he covered Porthos' with both of his.

“I do,” d'Artagnan said. “I see it in all of you. All of your various marks and scars.”

He yawned and slumped down further in his chair, waving a hand vaguely at them all.

“Too much wine, pup?” Athos asked, amused.

“Yes but... They're... they're a map. They show you guys learning, your experiences, your bravery... the things you've been through together,” d'Artagnan mumbled, bringing his legs up to curl up sleepily.

“They look like they'll fade,” Athos said quietly.

“The lines will,” Porthos said, hand still on Aramis' chest covered by Aramis' own.

A slight mumble from d'Artagnan let them know he'd fallen asleep.

“Your leg?” Athos asked gently.

“It's... bad, yes. It will... It will be there for life,” Aramis said, squeezing Porthos' hand gently.

“And it will forever serve as a reminder that the two of you can never be separated and will always find each other,” Athos said softly.

Aramis' eyes filled up with moisture again and he looked down at the smiling face of Porthos.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Bed?” Porthos said, equally quiet.

Aramis nodded and together they stood.

“You coming?” Porthos asked Athos.

Athos shook his head and nodded at d'Artagnan who was snoring lightly in his armchair.

“Join us if you want. Bed's big enough,” Aramis said.

Athos nodded and then smiled when he saw Porthos leering with his eyebrows raised.

“Maybe in the morning,” Athos said, raising his own eyebrow.

“In all honesty I don't think I'm ready for that,” Aramis admitted, fingers tracing the still visible welts on his stomach.

“Sleep then,” Athos said, standing. He gently rearranged the sleeping Gascon until he had room to fit beside him, cradling him in his arms.

Aramis smiled and gently tugged Porthos to bed.

  
  


 

 

 

Athos woke the next morning stretched out on the chaise lounge with d'Artagnan sprawled across his legs, curled tightly so his head rested in the soft dip of Athos' waist. He smiled, watching the man sleep for a few minutes before gently smoothing his hand across the tanned skin.

“Mmm?” mumbled the Gascon.

“Good morning,” Athos said, softly.

“So much wine,” groaned d'Artagnan, stretching until he was laying full length along Athos' body.

“Lightweight,” Athos said, lifting his head and kissing d'Artagnan softly. A small smile spread across both sets of lips as the kiss began to deepen. D'Artagnan shifted slightly, the two layers of material doing very little to hide evidence of his morning arousal.

“So... good morning,” d'Artagnan said, nuzzling into Athos' neck.

“So it appears,” Athos murmured, running his hands up and down the smooth skin of d'Artagnan's back. “I need to use the pot first, however.”

“First?” D'Artagnan asked, hopefully.

“Indeed,” Athos said, gently gripping the man by the waist. “We have all day.”

D'Artagnan grinned down at him before reluctantly sliding off and heading for the doorway. Athos stood to follow and cast a glance over to his sleeping friends tightly wrapped around each other on the bed. He noticed with a smile that, for the first time since Aramis had been shot, they were both sleeping nude.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised... The request from Lady_Neve - Hope I lived up to it! :)
> 
> Aramis is very self conscious about his new scars and welts. 
> 
> What if the four Inseparables were drinking and playing cards, and the game turned into an era-appropriate version of strip poker? But in this instance, Porthos cheats so that everyone but Aramis is stripped down. Aramis knows many of the scars and stitched many of them. He might be reminded of certain adventures and battles. That there scars are a kind of map to who they are.
> 
> I imagine it would be light-hearted and fun until the end when Aramis realizes what is happening, and he can see they are all scarred and are still beautiful just as they are. 
> 
> Then, maybe some emotion and acceptance.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :)


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